


Love Me Like That

by moonix



Series: Domestic Bliss [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Domesticity, Edging, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Neil’s kink is having a healthy and loving relationship, PWP, Porn with Feelings, Spooning, it’s a special occasion ok, like there’s sex but they also watch the great british bakeoff together with their cats, they’re disgustingly in love I don’t make the rules
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 09:52:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15969899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonix/pseuds/moonix
Summary: In which Neil mouths off to some reporters and gets some sweet domestic love-making out of it.





	Love Me Like That

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alexjosten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexjosten/gifts).



> Title from the song Don’t Love Me Like That by Schmieds Puls because it’s so damn Andreil it gives me feelings every time.
> 
> Alex - I know this is probably not what you had in mind when you gave me the prompt, and I was GONNA do the car sex one, but then my mind went "edging though" annnnd this happened. Sorryyyyy :D

Andrew is waiting for him in the parking lot, looking completely unruffled and at ease, like he didn’t just drive all the way across town in his pyjamas, a leather jacket and clunky combat boots to pick him up.

He’s playing with his lighter, rough hands haloed in firelight, the rest of him rinsed clean by shadows. Neil hitches his bag higher on his shoulder and walks over to him, snatching the lighter from his grip with quick fingers.

“Missed me?” Neil jokes, tossing the lighter in the air and catching it again, again, again. He feels wrung-out but not in a tired way, giddy and on edge like after a game that ends in an unsatisfactory draw. He didn’t play today, and the endless hours of sitting around and waiting and _talking_ have left him with enough pent-up energy to spare that he thinks he could run a marathon and then some. Maybe he’ll go for a run later.

“I thought we had agreed that you would refrain from unnecessarily insulting reporters after the last incident,” Andrew says coolly and steals his lighter back mid-throw.

“I agreed to no such thing,” Neil hums. “And _unnecessarily_ is debatable.”

“As Kevin tells it, you made a grown woman cry and destroyed valuable equipment.”

“Kevin exaggerates,” Neil shrugs, tapping his fingers on the roof of Andrew’s car. “They kept asking about your early retirement. Very impolitely, might I add. You’d think they’d know by now that I don’t take kindly to that, but it seems they didn’t do their research, which means they shouldn’t be reporters in the first place. I merely… encouraged them to consider a change of career. So in a way, I did them a favour.”

Andrew clicks his lighter shut, plunging them in darkness. The flame leaves a sticky residue behind Neil’s eyelids, like a coffee ring left by a mug.

“I don’t care,” Andrew says. He grabs Neil by the sleeve of his hoodie, spinning him against the side of his car until he’s pressed flush against it by the weight of Andrew’s body.

“Then what’s your problem?” Neil prods. “You should be used to me defending you by now.”

Andrew’s eyebrow twitches like Neil has succeeded in getting under his skin for a moment.

Neil _likes_ getting under Andrew’s skin.

“Stop it,” Andrew growls, trying to wipe the smugness from Neil’s mouth with his thumb. Neil playfully catches the digit between his teeth, tasting a hint of metal from the lighter. They both stopped smoking two years ago, but Andrew still carries it around out of habit. His fingers have become restless for lack of nicotine, always searching for ways to occupy and entertain themselves, more often than not finding peace in some part of Neil; his hair, his clothes, his scars, his freckles.

They both lean in for the kiss, but Andrew still has Neil pinned to the car, permitting only the limited motion of his head. His hand slides into Neil’s hair, tugging hard enough to make him see stars, and the other finds its way beneath the hem of his hoodie. Neil inhales sharply at the sensation of cold fingers against his heated skin and hooks his thumbs into the pockets of Andrew’s sweatpants in retaliation, twin weights holding Andrew down where he wants him.

Andrew kisses Neil until he’s breathless and hard, until he feels fuzzy and staticky all over from head to toe, until his pulse thrums and flickers in his veins like the broken street lamp at the edge of the parking lot. Neil’s so sunken in the kiss that he lets out an involuntary groan when Andrew suddenly steps back, making him shiver at the loss of heat and pressure.

“Let’s go,” Andrew says. His voice is steady and unconcerned, like they didn’t just make out in the middle of the parking lot like horny teenagers, and Neil needs to take a few deep breaths before he can climb into the passenger seat of Andrew’s car.

“You going to follow up on that when we get home?” he asks as Andrew pulls out of the parking lot.

“Guess you’ll have to wait and see,” Andrew says dismissively. He’s just teasing; there’s no way he’s unaffected after this. Probably. Hopefully. It doesn’t happen very often that Neil’s the one who wants it and Andrew doesn’t, even if Andrew is still very specific in _how_ he wants it, but it happens. Masturbating is fine, Neil supposes, but rarely worth it. Too much mess for a few moments of release. Not enough Andrew. Not nearly enough Andrew.

Lights slip over Andrew’s impassive face as he drives. He’s beautiful like this, eyes on the road and hands on the wheel, teasing another burst of speed from the engine that just about straddles legality.

“I want you to fuck me when we get home,” Neil says, bold and unrefined as always. Effective, though, usually. Tonight, Andrew barely bats an eye.

“Andrew?” Neil asks, unsure. “Is it a no?”

They don’t do it all that often. Hands and mouths do the trick just as nicely for them, and Andrew still has – not issues, but reservations. Neil doesn’t usually care how they get off as long as he gets to be with Andrew. Fucking requires a lot of working up to, for both of them, and the daily demands of their jobs and lives often leave them tired and exhausted at the end of the day and more likely to go for the quick and easy option than the long-winded one.

Still, though. Neil can’t deny that it’s special when they do.

“Maybe,” Andrew finally says, after mulling it over for several turns. A minute later they’re home, and Neil has just enough time to nudge the cats away from the door before Andrew crowds him up against the wall with more hot kisses.

It’s been a long week. Neil finds himself finally relaxing under Andrew’s capable hands, safe in their home. The kitchen smells like last night’s takeaway, Sir and King are chasing each other around the living room, and the box of old clothes Neil was meant to take to Oxfam still sits in the hallway untouched. Now that Andrew is holding him up, one hand under Neil’s bad knee and the other a grounding weight at his hip, Neil doesn’t trust his own legs to hold him up anymore. He leans on Andrew with a sigh and breaks their kiss to nuzzle and nip at his neck instead, earning him a shiver and a warning growl.

“Did you have dinner,” Andrew asks, pulling away. He’s still massaging the underside of Neil’s thigh and it takes Neil a moment to remember the stale chicken salad sandwich he wolfed down before the press conference.

“Close enough,” he says. “I’d rather have you for dessert.”

He moves back in to Andrew’s neck, but Andrew swiftly drops his leg and steps away. Neil lets his head fall back against the wall with a thunk. He won’t complain if Andrew cooks, but he meant what he said.

“Andrew,” he says, following him into the kitchen where Andrew has started heating up leftovers. “Come here.”

Andrew continues to putter about, taking out bread and slicing strawberries for later, choosing cutlery and even pouring them both a single glass of wine each. Neil watches, bemused, but lets himself be served dinner and puts fucking out of his mind for now. Maybe it’s not that kind of night.

They watch another episode of The Great British Bake-Off after dinner, nursing their wine, and Neil briefly dozes off with his feet in Andrew’s lap and King curled up on his chest. She’s an avid fan of cooking shows – Sir generally seems to prefer the wildlife documentaries and sits this one out on the balcony in favour of lying in ambush for unsuspecting moths. Neil gets prodded awake when the episode ends and sleepily asks for a re-cap, which Andrew stubbornly refuses to give him.

“It’s your turn,” Andrew tells him when Neil mournfully surveys the dishes in the sink. Neil groans but gets to work, yawning as he fills the sink with soapy water. King winds around his feet hopeful for a second dinner and pads off once she’s successfully tripped him up twice to reclaim the sofa. Neil dries his hands on a towel, decides to leave the dishes to dry themselves, and finds Andrew in the bath, up to his chin in bubbles and reading his latest trashy vampire romance through fogged-up reading glasses.

“How many books does this series even have?” Neil asks, leaning in the doorway and watching unabashedly as Andrew sits up, sudsy and handsome and flushed all the way down to his navel from the heat.

“I am on number fifteen,” Andrew has no qualms admitting. “This one is even worse than the last one. I was sure they couldn’t sink any lower, but shows what I know.”

“Maybe you should write one,” Neil teases. “Hey, you could write about vampires playing Exy.”

Andrew makes a gleefully disgusted noise and pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

“Maybe I will, just to annoy Kevin.”

“Mind if I join you?” Neil asks. Andrew waves his hand in a ‘if you must’ gesture, but he’s already laid out a fresh towel for Neil and his sleeping clothes are neatly folded on the vanity. Neil knows for a fact that he dumped both his old towel and his pyjama pants in the laundry hamper this morning, so Andrew can’t fool him.

He strips and steps into the large bathtub, nudging Andrew’s feet aside and sinking into the hot water with a sigh.

Being in the bath usually has the unfortunate side effect of making him fall asleep if he doesn’t keep himself occupied with an Exy magazine or two, but after his nap on the couch Neil feels a little more refreshed, and it’s easy to distract himself by watching the way the steam curls Andrew’s hair into devious shapes.

“Staring,” Andrew reprimands him without glancing up from his book. He’s holding the cheap paperback in one hand, the spine bent back around itself, his other hand curled loosely around Neil’s ankle in the water. Neil slides down further until he’s submerged up to his nose, still blatantly staring, and Andrew’s fingers trickle along the inside of his thigh, making him shudder.

It doesn’t take much to get him hard again, after earlier, but Andrew ignores that and continues to rub and tease over his legs and what he can reach of his ass. Neil lets his eyes drift shut, enjoying the attention and letting the lazy touches slowly work him up.

“Andrew?” he murmurs after a while.

“Hmm?”

“You said maybe earlier. What about now?”

Andrew looks at him over the edge of his glasses, thumb catching on the rim of Neil’s hole and making him shiver even though he’s warm all over.

“Still maybe,” Andrew decides, but puts his book away at last. He scoots forward and leans into Neil’s space for a slow, languid kiss, then pulls himself out of the tub. Neil admires the solid muscles on display, still kept in peak condition despite being retired from Exy, as well as the faded scars, the soft swell of his belly and the body hair. Andrew beckons for him to follow and Neil nearly brains himself on the tiles in his haste to get out. He gets caught before he can make a run for their bedroom still dripping everywhere, and then a towel drops over his head, obscuring his vision.

“So eager,” Andrew tells Neil, but it sounds like approval more than a reprimand.

Neil emerges from his towel, grinning and breathless, and feels his quip slide uselessly off his mouth when Andrew drops to his knees on the rug and wraps his hand around the base of Neil’s erection.

“Andrew,” he moans, “yes.”

Andrew kisses and licks at the head of his cock like it’s candy. Neil’s towel slips off his shoulders and to the floor but he can’t bring himself to care, too lost in the sensation of Andrew’s mouth suckling at him, popping off every now and then to lick and lap and tease. Neil’s breath keeps hitching in his throat and his legs tremble, and Andrew must feel it because he tugs and nudges and directs until Neil is lying down on the plush rug that they bought because Andrew hates having cold feet.

“Yeah,” Neil slurs when Andrew sucks him down deep, “god, Andrew, yeah.”

He’s so good at this it hurts, and Neil strains and swears and digs his toes into the rug just so he won’t fuck up into Andrew’s mouth. Andrew starts moving the hand at the base of his cock, jerking him off in time with the motions of his head, and Neil is so, so ready to come, can feel it like an ache down to the periphery of his limbs, just one more moment, one more –

And then Andrew stops and withdraws, and Neil keens, caught on the precipice with blood rushing in his ears, breath coming in shallow, painful gasps.

“Not yet,” Andrew tells him. The low, gravelly pitch of his voice sends shivers down Neil’s entire body.

“Why,” he whines, panting and not even ashamed at this point.

“Because I want you to wait,” Andrew says simply. He’s fully hard too, and he gives his own cock a few sharp jerks, eyes never leaving Neil where he’s still sprawled obscenely on the rug. Neil makes a noise and reaches for him, but Andrew bats his hand away.

“Later,” he says.

He reaches over and pulls the plug from the bathtub, then walks to the bedroom, leaving his clothes and towel behind. Neil can only follow, still reeling from his near-orgasm, his legs buckling as soon as he reaches the bed and Andrew motions for him to lie down.

“Can you hold off?” he asks, straddling Neil’s thighs and wrapping one hand back around him.

“I can try,” Neil says roughly. He feels shivery and oversensitive, and Andrew hums and finds his nipple with his free hand, rubbing and rolling it between his fingers while he moves the hand on his cock inexorably slowly, just enough to keep a spark going. Neil curls his fingers in the sheets and loses himself in the unrelenting sensations, hot and cold washing over him in waves, and soon the bed is damp underneath him from fresh sweat and he’s this close to hyperventilating.

“Andrew,” he pants, “Andrew, I can’t-”

Andrew lets go of his cock and it feels like being slapped. Neil grits his teeth against it, watching Andrew watch him. Then Andrew leans down and mouths over his riled-up nipples, cool and soft, and Neil almost sobs.

“Do you need a break?” Andrew asks.

“No,” Neil moans, “yes. No. Don’t stop.”

Andrew looks at him. His eyes are steady as ever, but his pupils are blown and his face is infused with pink, meaning he isn’t unaffected either.

“Still want you to fuck me,” Neil admits. “Is it still maybe? Because I don’t think I can hold out much longer.”

“Hmm,” Andrew hums, kissing wet paths between his scars. “Not yet.”

Neil has plenty of experience with Andrew’s _yes_ and _no_ , but this limbo is maddening. He gets to catch his breath for a moment as Andrew hunts for lube in the bedside drawer and comes up with a bottle and a condom packet. He squints at the foil, trying to decipher the expiration date without his glasses, and Neil takes it from him with shaky hands and checks.

“Still good. Still yes,” he tacks on, just in case. Andrew swallows the word in a kiss, rocking their hips together to take some of the edge off, and Neil has to tap some serious self-control reserves not to just find a rhythm and get them both off that way.

His legs open up easily for Andrew, and he might be wound up but he’s relaxed enough that Andrew’s finger slips in without resistance. It had taken him a while in the beginning to get used to the strange sensation, but Andrew had been a quick study, finding ways and angles and tricks to make him squirm. All that time playing with things has made his fingers nimble and mischievous, and he knows exactly how to press and push and curl them until he has Neil rocking into every thrust. The feeling of almost-almost-almost is slower this time because the stimulation is different and Neil is _tired_ , but by the time it washes over him Neil’s whole body is strung taut like a wire and he’s making a lot more noise than usual, though he’s too far gone to care. He’s so close on the heels of orgasm that he wonders if Andrew will even have to touch his cock anymore, and just as he thinks the answer to that is _probably not_ , Andrew stops again and retreats, leaving him shaking and spent and ready to just take himself in hand and finish it.

“Wait,” Andrew says calmly, and the word is enough to stall Neil’s hand on its way down. He moans in frustration and pulls at his hair instead until the urgency lessens, and when he has himself back under control Andrew is right there, watching him with an intensity that sends shudders down his spine.

“Neil,” Andrew murmurs, caressing his side. “It’s a yes now. Do you still want to?”

Neil nods frantically. He thinks he might have drool on his chin and he wipes at it half-heartedly.

“Yes,” he says, “yeah, fuck me, Andrew, yes.”

He can’t imagine he’d ever be comfortable with anyone else doing this, much less _want_ it, but right now he feels like he might cry if Andrew doesn’t fuck him soon. It’s never been quite this intense before. Andrew continues to stroke his side and hip for a bit, then he rolls the condom down over his cock and gently turns Neil onto his side, scooting in behind him.

“Okay?” he checks, kissing over his shoulder. Neil slurs something affirmative and hitches his leg up, sighing when Andrew finally pushes into him.

They start a slow, shallow, rocking rhythm until Neil is accustomed to the feeling of fullness again, and then Andrew pulls out a little more on every thrust, but it stays unhurried and careful and Neil cries out a little every time Andrew bottoms out. Somehow their hands have become entangled and Andrew gets his other arm underneath Neil’s chest, pulling him close. This time Neil doesn’t even notice he’s getting close to orgasm until Andrew murmurs, “Let go,” into his ear, and then his whole body shakes with the force of it and he’s not even making a single noise as he holds his breath and _feels_.

He works his way down from the high in small increments, sucking in tiny breaths and wiping at the moisture on his face. He’s dimly aware of Andrew pulling out and finishing himself off, though it apparently doesn’t take much. Andrew rolls away from him when he’s done, giving them both space to cool down and catch their breaths.

Neil is still feeling too vulnerable to speak, and bone-tired now that the adrenaline is wearing off. The sweat and come feels tacky on him though, so he heaves himself up and walks to the bathroom on unsteady legs to clean himself up and put on the shorts and t-shirt Andrew laid out for him earlier. He steals Andrew’s fuzzy slippers just because and checks on the cats while Andrew takes his turn in the bathroom. For a moment he contemplates making tea, but the siren call of the fresh sheets Andrew put on the bed is too tempting in the end.

He flops down face-first and revels in feeling pleasantly sore. The blanket gets pulled out from underneath him and then thrown over him. Neil hums and turns his head to peer at Andrew.

“You know,” he says conversationally, “if that was supposed to be a punishment for going off on those reporters, it really missed the mark.”

Andrew snags the collar of his shirt and tugs, but Neil is too tired to move. If Andrew wants kisses, he’s going to have to come and get them himself.

“You said marry,” Andrew mutters. Neil blinks and tries to follow the non-sequitur, but his mind comes up blank.

“Huh?”

“At the press conference,” Andrew sighs, long-suffering. “You said you would marry me just to make a point. To prove them all wrong.”

“Huh,” Neil says again. “Guess I did. Were you watching after all?”

Andrew glares at him, then he sits up and sticks his hand in the space between the bedframe and the mattress, drawing out a small, plain black box. Neil’s brain is too slow to catch up, but when Andrew holds the little box in his lap and opens it, revealing a thin gold band, somehow Neil isn’t surprised at all.

It feels _right_.

“Yes,” he says before Andrew’s even had a chance to ask the question. “I will definitely, one hundred percent marry you. And not just to prove a point, although that will be a convenient side effect.”

He expects Andrew to scoff and call him an idiot, but all he gets is a slightly resigned look before Andrew throws the ring at him. Neil barely catches it, reflexes a little slow, which is entirely Andrew’s fault.

He slides the ring on his finger and it fits perfectly. He wonders how Andrew figured out his size – he’s never worn a ring before, and he’s fairly sure Andrew didn’t take any measurements in the last few months, unless he was sneaky enough to get away with it when Neil was sleeping.

“Okay,” Andrew says simply.

“Okay,” Neil echoes, the light from Andrew’s bedside lamp reflecting dimly off the ring. “You know, if this is what the engagement sex is like, I don’t think I’ll survive our wedding night.”

“Shut up,” Andrew mutters, whacking him with a spare pillow. Neil grabs it and whacks him back, until Andrew catches his wrist and pins him down.

“Night, future husband,” Neil whispers, grinning.

“Night, insufferable nuisance I’m unfortunate enough to be stuck with permanently,” Andrew deadpans back.

“You say such sweet things to me,” Neil sighs.

“There is more where that came from,” Andrew promises, rolling off him and taking most of the blankets with him in the process. Neil laughs to himself and falls asleep with one of his feet hooked around Andrew’s ankle and the ring still on his finger.


End file.
